Light&Dark
by LoveBugOC
Summary: He wants her to save him./She wants to bury herself in his darkness and let it consume her.  Two ONEShots
1. Dancing in the Light

Why, hello there! I've decided to post two more stories. Technically they're OneShots, but I've decided to post them together because while they're completely different, I wrote them at the same time. One sort of plays off the other, so it makes sense to me.

Here's the first one, let me know that you think!

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><p><strong>Dancing in the Light<strong>

_He wants her to save him, to drown in her warmth and bask in her glory and follow her towards the light.  
><em>  
>X<p>

She is the sun to his darkness. The rainbow to his rain cloud. The ray of hope, where there is otherwise none. The light at the end of the tunnel. She just doesn't know it. Yet.  
>She is happiness and kindness and beauty. She believes in fairytales and love stories. She loves unicorns and cherry blossoms and sugar quills when she's studying because it helps her concentrate. She is everything he wants, everything he craves and desires and <em>needs<em>.  
>And she doesn't have a clue. Why would she? He's been nothing but absolutely horrid to her. Calling her names, insulting her and her friends (mostly her friends) tormenting her and enraging her. Pushing her buttons until she pushes back. Telling her everything that is wrong with her, and keeping to himself everything that right.<br>In fact, if he were to approach her right now, in the middle of the library, and confess his deepest darkest secret, she would never believe him. She would laugh in his face, probably hurl an insult of her own once or twice before packing her things and leaving him dumbfounded. (He's mapped it all out in his head several times since the beginning of the year).  
>And so, for that reason only, he keeps his distance and loves her from afar.<p>

X

She throws her head back when she laughs, with reckless abandon. It's the kind of laugh that's contagious, that throws other people-friends and strangers alike-into fits of laughter as well. It's the kind that lifts spirits and brighten days.  
>And when she smiles, it reaches her eyes. It pulls smiles from everyone around her.<br>She's bright and she's shiney and she's beautiful. She's warm, and kind and thoughtful. Not to mention she's incredibly intelligent; like a brilliant enigma. She's bloody well perfect, although she'll probably never admit it.  
>And sometimes-most times (always) when he's watching her with her friends, laughing and joking around or scolding them for not finishing their homework, or when she's in the library studying for a test that isn't for two weeks, he wishes they were friends. At the very least he wishes they were acquaintances.<br>He wishes she could smile at him, not scowl.  
>He wishes she could laugh with him, not argue. (And scream and cry).<br>He wishes he could tell her everything about his entire life, about his mission-because she's the only person on Earth who would understand. She's the only person in the world who would set aside their differences to help him.  
>But he's not brave enough to approach her and so he suffers in silence.<p>

X

She's crying. He has a small deja vu from two years prior when she was crying on the stair case after having a fight with Weasley during the Yule Ball. But this time is different. This time it isn't just a few tears and sniffles. This time it's rivers of tears and endless sobs and shaking shoulders.  
>She's fallen apart.<br>She's broken.  
>And he wants to rip Weasley apart, limb from limb, for hurting her. For causing her pain. And yet, doesn't he do the very same thing?<br>He wants to comfort her, to tell her that everything will be okay even though he knows it won't. He wants to hold her and protect her from the big, bad world that looms about outside the castle walls. He wants to apologize-repeatedly-for everything he's ever said and done to her. He wants her forgiveness and her love for himself.  
>But staying away is safer for her, deep down he knows this, and so he stays far, far away from her.<br>Protecting her.

X

She's smiling again. And laughing. And Weasley smiles back.  
>And jealousy rips through him like wild fire.<br>She forgives too easily.  
>She believes in all that is good and pure, because she is good and pure. She sees goodness in people when others don't. She hands out second chances like she raises her hand in class to answer questions.<br>And one day he can't help it. She's in the library, studying like she always is and suddenly his feet are carrying him towards her and her name-her first name spills from his lips.  
>Hermione.<br>And she looks at him, her brown eyes wide with confusion and curiosity.  
>Yes?<br>Can I confide in you?  
>And for a moment he thinks she's going to laugh. She just stares at him, speechless, her mouth open in awe and shock. He's about to turn around and run in the opposite direction her small hand and thin fingers wrap around his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks.<br>Grey meets brown. And she must see something in his eyes-fear or sorrow or despair, or all of the above-because her gaze softens and she nods, her lips curling into a small, a reassuring smile. (He wants so badly to kiss her).  
>And just like that...he breaks. He confides everything in her. He rolls up his sleeve and she pretends not to be disgusted but he watches her flinch. He tells her everything he knows about the Dark Lord and Dark Magic and his mission. And she listens. She understands.<br>But what he really wants...  
>He wants her to save him. He wants to drown in her warmth and bask in her glory. He wants to live in her heart where it's kind and safe. He wants to follow her into the light-he'd follow her anywhere, really.<br>And the hand that she offers him, and the genuine smile she throws at him, allows him to do just that.  
>She's an angel.<p> 


	2. Basking in the Darkness

**Basking in the Dark**

_At this point they just want the same thing. She wants to bury herself in his darkness and let it consume her. He wants pull her off her pedestal and drown her in his own evil._

X

She looks across the room at him, watching silently as he dresses. He pulls his trousers on over his boxers and she marvels at the way they hang on his hips. He leans forward, reaching on top of the dresser for his under shirt before pulling it on over his head and she watches the muscles in his arms move fluently. His movements are graceful and perfect, just as they've always been. However he, like her, is not perfect. Not anymore.  
>Not ever again, really.<p>

He takes his time putting on his shirt and doing up the buttons on the front. Top to bottom. He skips the first three, afraid he might suffocate if he does it up too high. He knows she's watching; she's always watching. He can feel her penetrating gaze on him, her brown eyes following him around the room. Perhaps she doesn't even realize that she's doing it.  
>Or, perhaps she just doesn't care.<br>He pulls his cloak on over the rest of his clothing, turning to face her one last time before he leaves; they both know he'll be back. Just as they both know that on the days that she visits him, she too will always come back.  
>He nods at her, awkwardly.<br>She nods back, holding the sheets tight against her naked chest.  
>It's funny-or not funny, really-that just moments ago they'd been shagging each other senseless, and now they've got nothing to say to one another. But then, that's not exactly true, is it? They've got plenty to say. It's just that neither of them wants to say it.<br>He doesn't know what he's looking for, or what he thinks he'll find in her. Peace? Acceptance? Passion fueled by hatred? But that's okay because she doesn't know what she's looking for either.

X

They understand. They've both been through hell, both witnessed it and embraced it and feared it all at the same time. They both understand. Perhaps that's why they keep winding up in bed together.  
>Perhaps that's why he follows her to the pub she visits every Friday night.<br>Perhaps that's why she chooses the same pub.

It isn't special. It isn't loving. It isn't gentle touches and soft caresses. It isn't slow and magnificent and perfect. In fact it's quite the opposite.  
>It's hard and fast and desperate. It's lustful and hungry. It's fingernails drawing blood and bruises in the shapes of hand prints. It's messy and awkward and clumsy and so imperfect.<br>It's fucking.  
>Pure. Fucking.<br>He doesn't stay to hold her afterwards; why would he?  
>She doesn't ask him to stay and hold her afterwards either.<p>

X

He's watching her from across the room as she adjusts the waistband of her skirt around her hips; and he wants to rip it of her creamy, smooth legs. He watches her as she pulls her shirt on over her head, her curls bouncing all over the place; and he wants to grab hold of them desperately. She's shaking-post orgasm jitters-as she pushes her arms through her blazer, deliberately avoiding his gaze. But he watches her anyway because there's something so...mesmerizing about her. Something that captivates him; the same thing that had captivated him in Hogwarts.

She knows he's watching her, and she tries desperately to ignore it. She ignores the goose bumps raising on her skin and the shiver that runs down her spine and the heat that pools between her legs. She has to get back to work and the last thing she needs is to be late, for the second afternoon in a row, because she doesn't have the strength to ignore his advances.  
>She doesn't even spare him a moment's glance before she spins on her stiletto heels and walks out of the room.<p>

X

Ministry events are the worst. Specifically the ones that celebrate the Anniversary of the day that the war ended three-five-seven years ago. Sure, the initial celebration was what everyone needed. Everyone needed a bit of happiness, a ray of hope, a glimpse at the bright futures ahead of them. But now…  
>Now everyone just needs to move on.<br>Now she hates them.  
>She feels his gaze on her from across the room-doesn't she always? And when she spares him a glance, looking over Ron's shoulder to where he's standing near the back door, she can tell that he's thinking the same things she is. He's just as uncomfortable and anxious to leave as she is.<br>And so she nods-their silent but effective communication-and he nods back before pushing his hands into his pockets and exiting through the back door. She makes up an excuse-she's meeting her mother for breakfast tomorrow so she has to leave early-before disapparating to the hallway outside his bedroom. She barely makes it through the door before he yanks her inside by the waist and slams her against the door as he closes it, fully intend on ravishing her-fucking her-until neither of them can walk.  
>And she loves it.<br>She craves it.

X

He leaves his marks-yes, marks with an 's'. Plural. Her skin, which is otherwise flawless and creamy and smooth, is covered in his 'marks' in the most intimate of places-just in case she decides to have a go with someone that isn't him (she wouldn't of course); he's marking his territory. Not that he loves her, he'd never love her. But he marks her anyway, claims her as his own.  
>It's the hickeys and bite marks on her neck, behind her ears, on her hips and the insides of her thighs. It's the bruises in the shapes of handprints and the scratches in the shape of nails on her rear.<br>He's destroying her physically and mentally, breaking her down.  
>He knows she isn't happy-like Potter and Weasley and the Girl-Weasley. He knows she's just as sad and angry and depressed as he is. And he feeds off of it.<p>

At first she thought she could save him. And then by saving him, perhaps she could mend a little bit of herself. He was wounded-destroyed, really. And she really did try.  
>She just really did fail.<br>Because in trying to save him, in trying to fix him, she has broken herself even further. She has allowed him to pull her under. And she lets him break her physically because she finds comfort in the pain. She finds comfort in the fact that he wants her-needs her-like nobody else does. (She is, after all, the only one who will give him what he craves. Rough. Violence. Rage).  
>She finds comfort in the marks he makes all over her body, taking her and keeping her as his own possession.<p>

X

At this point they just want the same thing. She wants to crawl into the nearest hole and bury herself in his darkness, to let it consume her. She wants to drown in a sea of nothingness.  
>He wants to pull her off of her ridiculously high pedestal that everyone seems to place her on and drown her in his very own brand of evil. He wants to destroy her fairytale future of happiness and love and keep her for his own miserable pleasure.<br>They want to live forever in the darkness-because it's easy. Because it's dreary and cold and depressing and there are no expectations. It's just black. Just black.

XXX

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><p>Drop a comment if you'd like, you're more than welcome :)<p> 


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